


A Different Start

by KaterinaRiley



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash, Self-Harm, if you chose to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Merlin, your…your scars,” Arthur started hesitantly, watching as Merlin curled inward and his gaze turn cold. “Why did you do them?”</p>
<p>Merlin closed his eyes, releasing a breath. “Because they’re true,” he whispered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Start

**Author's Note:**

> On FanFiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10936193/1/A-Different-Start
> 
> Edited 7/7/17. Gosh, the grammar and spelling was awful before. Don't worry; it's much better now.

* * *

**_  
_ **

The knife shone brightly in the moonlight. It glimmered with hope. Hope that would turn into life. Life that would run down fingertips, leaving a trail of red kisses in its wake.

_Sorcerer._

_Freak._

The words were carved into the tender flesh. Wrists, thighs, back. There was no part unmarred. What wasn’t covered with scabbed lines, was covered with bruises – some dark, some healing.

_Burning._

_Screaming._

Nothing had been spared. Not a horse, not a house, not a mother. The only person to survive was no person at all, but a _thing_. An evil that brought about the destruction.

Merlin was seven when they came, searching for him.

But it was an accident. They'd scared him, scared his mum. He couldn’t control himself; he just wanted to get away.

_Stop! Leave me alone! No, please! Please!_

He only wanted to be with his mum. To be safe and warm and loved. He didn’t mean to cause the fire. He didn’t. It just happened. It was an accident. An accident!

An accident that left everyone dead.

Merlin was seven when he discovered what he truly was.

A monster.

 x~X~x

_…nine years later…_

Arthur surveyed the village, taking in all the destruction. He observed the families, watching them as they sobbed their stories to his knights.

There was Leon, a dear friend and advisor. He’d been Arthur’s mentor a few years back. (Of course, once Arthur had turned twenty, just one year ago, Arthur was now Leon’s superior.) Next was Owain, who was a man of few words, but was especially handy in a sword fight. Kay was the troublesome one, always looking for an excuse to show off his strength, be in the battlefield or the tavern. Then there was Henry, who preferred books to battle, Egbert, who was always trying to find his next pull, Duane, who was better at archery than sword fighting, Kreshawn, whose family had been murdered by sorcerers, and Wesley, the seventh son of the seventh son.

“All the same story,” Leon said, walking up behind Arthur. “Their eldest children missing.”

“How many?” Arthur asked.

Leon sighed. “Four, milord.”

Clenching his fists and shaking his head, Arthur spat, “I hate sorcerers.”

“It might be slave traders,” Owain suggested calmly.

However, Arthur shook his head. “Six villages, miles apart, within the last few weeks. No, these are definitely sorcerers. No one else could move so quickly.”

Kay jogged towards them, having just finished talking to latest family. “We might have a suspect,” he said, grinning.

“Who?” Arthur demanded.

Kay shrugged. “Dunno. All I got is that his hair’s black, his eyes are blue, and he stayed in town a few days before wondering off into the woods.”

Lon frowned. “Why would they think he did it?”

“Oh,” Kay grinned. “That’s the best part; they were rumors of magic going around.”

“Perfect,” Arthur said, feeling hopeful. “Looks like we got our man, mates.”

"Now all we have to do it find him,” Egbert said. 

x~X~x

Always on the move. Always, always on the move. If he stayed in one place too long… They might find him. And if they find him, they won’t let go. They’d make him create another one. They’d make him do it again Merlin can’t. He doesn’t want to; he can’t!

Merlin clutched his knife, grounding himself.

The knife – Merlin’s only trusted friend. He twisted it between his hands, careful not to slice himself. That was for punishment, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant pain. Not yet anyway.

Merlin gazed at his reflection in the stream. The face that stared back at him was young and innocent. Merlin looked away. It was only a mask. A façade that disguised the monster into looking pure. Merlin hated his face.

“Hey! You there!”

“Don’t move!”

Merlin jumped to his feet. His first thought was that it was _them_ , but as the figures emerged from the shadows, all on horseback, he saw red. They didn't wear red. Merlin released his bated breath; it wasn’t _them_. 

“Who are you?” one of them demanded. His blonde hair shone brightly as the sun caught it; almost like he wore a crown of gold. The way he held himself, he was clearly the leader of the group.

Slowly, Merlin lifted his hands. He was relieved his sleeves didn’t fall down. “I’m Merlin.”

“Merlin,” the leader repeated. “Are you aware, _Mer_ lin, that there are four children missing in the village just east of here?”

“No,” he answered truthfully.

“It can’t be him, Arthur,” the curly-haired one whispered. “He’s barely even a man, and I see no hiding place to put the kids.”

The leader, Arthur, nodded slightly at the curly-haired one’s words. “Where are you going, Merlin? Are you traveling home?”

“My home was burned to the ground,” Merlin said, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

Arthur frowned. “I don’t know of any villages that have been burned. How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen years,” he said, licking his lips nervously. He hesitated for only a second before adding, “It was in Cenred’s kingdom.”

“Cenred?” Arthur’s eyebrows shot up so far, they hid behind his eyebrows. “You come from Cenred’s land then?”

“Yes, that _is_ what I said.” Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Last time he showed mockery to a man with power...the scars on his back still ache whenever he thinks about it too much.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the insolence, but didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “Sorcerers roam free in those lands.”

Merlin swallowed nervously. He refused to be taken in as another one's salve again, even if it meant death. 

“So why are you here?” Arthur asked.

“Because…” Merlin licked his lips and remembered how the fire had licked his leg. How the fire had licked and licked until his entire village was destroyed. Until his mother was gone. “Because magic is evil,” he said. “And whoever has magic should be sent back to hell.”

Arthur nodded, approving his statement. “Excellent choice of words. Carry on, sorry to bother you.”

Then, with a turn of his horse, Arthur left. The men with red capes followed.

Merlin watched them go with a heavy heart. Missing children? He toyed with the idea of helping them. For a moment, he imagine how it could be: He’d burst through the camp, defeat the bad guys, and save the children. He’d be a hero!

The dream crashed when Merlin remembered that the only way he could ever hope to save them would be if he used his magic. Merlin had told Arthur that magic was evil. If that were true, and it was very, very true, then that would mean _he_ was evil too.

After all, good men stay dead. 

x~X~x 

“This is where the sorcerers will be heading to next,” Arthur said, looking around at the unsuspecting village. For reasons Arthur couldn’t fathom, the sorcerers had been traveling due East, where the boarder was located, stopping at all the nearby villages to take the children. “We’ll set the trap and stop these bastards once and for all.”

His knights agreed readily. They split up, each man watching over different households with an eldest child between ten and fourteen years of age. Until nightfall, they wondered the streets, looking for suspects. None could be found.

Once the sun was nearly set, the Camelot Knights separated, bidding each other good night with grim smiles. Tonight, they could save children and sop the sorcerers. Or they could parish by a sorcerer's hand. Or they could be wrong entirely and not even be in the right village. 

The family Arthur chose thanked him profusely, offering him dinner and the best chair in their house. 

Arthur sat on the dingy stool in the corner, using the shadows to shroud himself. He waited and waited and waited. For the first quarter of the night, he wrestled with the thought that the sorcerers would steal from one of the families who declined protection. He couldn’t let another child be stolen by sorcerers.

When the moon was halfway up, Arthur heard a rustle. A human-like figure stepped out from the shadows, faint wisps of gold illuminating his silhouette.

It was one of the sorcerers! He thanked the gods that he had chosen this house. Slowly, he crept behind the sorcerer, who was chanting a spell of sorts over the sleeping child.

“Don’t think about it,” the Prince growled, holding his small knife at the sorcerer’s throat, cutting off his words and his breath.

The sorcerer's voice dropped off; he began trembling in Arthur’s arms. But it was not in fear. Too late, he realized the sorcerer was casting a different spell.

Before he could release his grip, Arthur found himself standing in the middle of the forest. Men and women were scattered about a campsite. Alarmed faces met Arthur’s.  

“Seize him, fools!” the sorcerer in his arms shouted.

Magic swirled at Arthur's feet, paralyzing him before his muscles could grip his knife tighter or move to grab the sword at his waist. The magic circled his ankles and wrists, crawling upwards, leaving him with an uncomfortable feeling of violation and disgust.

After being stripped of weapons and armor, he was tossed into a cage like a rag doll.

“We’re moving out!” one of the sorcerers cried. “We’ve done enough, no more.” Then the cage lurched forward.

Arthur cursed under his breath. This was not how he wanted his night to go. At least the magic no longer bound him. Sitting up, Arthur tested the bars, sighing when it sparked under his fingertips. Of course the sorcerers spelled the iron. It can never be easy, can it?

“Fancy meeting you here again,” a familiar voice said quietly.

Arthur looked up, only half-startled to see the boy from the clearing. “Merlin. By God, what did they do to you?”

Merlin looked as though he’d been beaten with heavy fists and sliced with a very sharp knife. He was sitting with this knees pulled tightly to his chest.  

“Oh. Ah, well.” Red tainted Merlin’s cheeks, “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t them?”

Before Arthur got the chance to say, “No,” a sorcerer silenced them. It was the same one who tried to kidnap the sleeping child. It was becoming apparent to Arthur this one was the leader.

“Shut up, you two!” He rattled the bars using a black staff. Sparks flew out; Merlin flinched at the shower. One spark landed on Arthur’s hand, stinging fiercely. When Arthur looked down, he saw a red welt forming.

“You think these bars will hold me,” Arthur hissed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

The sorcerer bowed mockingly. “Oh, yes we do, _Prince Arthur_. We know a lot about you _and_ your scum father.” He turned to Merlin, “And we know you too, boy. Cenred will pay handsomely for the both of you.”

Merlin's sharp intake of breath drew Arthur's eyes away from the sorcerer and onto Merlin. He looked terrified.

“No!” he shouted in anguish. Gripping the bars and ignoring the sparks that landed on painfully on his bare skin, the boy begged, “Not Cenred! Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't sell me to him! Please–”

He was cut off when the sorcerer wacked the cage with his stick again, hitting Merlin's knuckles. Merlin let go of the bars, sobbing.

“Any more talk, and it’ll be your tongue that gets cut off,” the man warned, his lips upturned in a disgusted sneer.

Arthur glared at the sorcerer and shifted over to Merlin. The poor boy was shivering so badly, he might as well have been stuck in a blizzard. His hands and lower arms were covered in red welts while tears streamed down his face. Clearly, Merlin knew who Cenred was – maybe even met him. Arthur loathed to think what it was that made Merlin fear Cenred so greatly.  

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur said softly so only Merlin could hear. He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I’ll get us out, don’t worry. And I’ll save the children–”

“You can’t,” Merlin interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’re already dead.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, startled. “What do you mean?”

Sparks flew.

“What did I tell you?!” the sorcerer shouted. “Last chance. No talking.”

_‘Sacrifices,’_ Merlin whispered sadly.

x~X~x 

What happened to the children was awful. Truly awful. 

But they were dead; worrying over them would do nothing. Help no one. Merlin, however, was alive and terrified.

_Not Cenred, not Cenred, anyone but Cenred._

Merlin knew he was a monster; he knew he should be killed. But Cenred was _worse._ He was worse because he knew he was a monster and he didn’t care in the slightest. And Cenred had Morgause. Merlin couldn’t go back to them. Not after last time. Not when they tried to –

“We stop here for the night!” someone shouted.

With a few uttered words and waves of their hands, the sorcerers set up their camp. It took several hours for them to finish eating and talking in merriment. Merlin's stomach growled at the smell of meat cooking. Arthur was silent the entire time, even his stomach.

Once the sorcerers settled down, it was still another hour before Camelot's apparent prince said anything.

“This is our chance,” Arthur whispered in Merlin's ear. “They’re all asleep.”

“How?” he whispered back. “The cage is spelled.”

Arthur revealed a pick. “I just have to be sure I don’t touch the cage. Be my lookout.”

Merlin nodded, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He knew picking the lock wouldn’t work, he tried it already. The only way to get the cage unlocked was by magic. He knew the words to say, he'd involuntarily memorized them when they were first uttered, but he was too afraid to say them. He was too afraid to do anything.

Then Merlin felt his eyes turn gold. He felt his magic aid the pick. There was an audible  _click_ as the lock opened.

“Done,” Arthur whispered triumphantly. “Let’s go.”

Arthur helped Merlin out of the cage and gently guided him out of the campsite. Merlin searched for his knife as they made their way through the sleeping sorcerers. His companion. He _needed_ it; he must be punished. He did magic!

There wasn’t enough time though, and Merlin never found his knife. He felt hot tears spill from his eyes; he lost a dear friend.

But he couldn’t mourn for long. Once Arthur’s foot touched the soil outside the camp’s boundary circle, a loud, screeching noise pierced the darkness, arousing the from slumber. They set off a ward! 

“Run!” Arthur shouted, pushing Merlin ahead of him.

Merlin ran. He ran and ran and knew that Arthur was hot on his heels the entire time. Merlin only stopped when he came to the edge of a cliff. The edge was too steep to climb down and below were sharp rocks.

“Shit!” Arthur cursed.

“Looks like you ran out of land, boys,” Tello said grinning. He was the sorcerer who had loved taunting Merlin, back before he accidentally brought Arthur along. “Don’t know how you got out, but it seems we’ll have to put more powerful charms on your cage. Come willingly, you two. Cenred pays higher, if the goods aren’t damaged.”

“I am Prince Arthur of Camelot!” Arthur shouted. “And you will take me nowhere. Fight me like a man! I win, and we get to go.”

“And if you lose?” Tello asked in lazy amusement.

Arthur gathered himself, standing taller and larger than ever. “I never lose in a fair fight,” he said, not boastfully, but as a statement of fact. Merlin was grateful he was standing behind Arthur.

Tello turned to Merlin, anger in his eyes. “You cower behind this man?” he asked in disgust. “He is a traitor!”

Gritting his teeth, Arthur shouted, “Oh,  _I’m_ the traitor? You are the ones stealing children and _sacrificing_ them!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to _you_ ,” Tello sneered. Turning back to Merlin, he said, “He hates us, Emrys. Camelot would have us all _killed_ , our mothers, our children, and that is their Prince who you hide behind!”

Arthur glanced at Merlin. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Merlin’s fingers twitched, itching to grab onto Arthur’s shirt. He just wanted to be free. He wanted his knife back and to be in the woods and to be held in his mother’s arms. He wanted so many things…but he couldn’t have them. Because magic took them away.

“Magic is evil,” Merlin mumbled, his eyes darting between Arthur and Tello.

Tello screamed in outraged. “You’re Emrys! You’re supposed to be on our side!”

“I don’t know who Emrys is!” Merlin cried out. “Please don’t take me to Cenred!”

The sorcerers in the crowd murmured among each other. It was a combination of pity and hate and confusion, and it made Merlin’s stomach twist in knots.

Unable to keep calm, Tello commanded, “Take them! I don’t care how, just get them!” 

“No!” Merlin begged. “No, please!”

They didn’t stop. They just kept coming closer and closer and closer. Merlin couldn’t fight them off, and though Arthur tried, he was easily overpowered.

Forced on his knees, a vile containing dark liquid was poured into Arthur's mouth. Merlin could smell it; he knew it. It would put people to sleep. Last time that happened…Merlin woke up and…Cenred was…

The memory of Cenred on top of him, ripping his clothes and bruising his flesh, brought with it familiar nausea and shame, but this time there was more. Anger. Fear. For Arthur.

“No!” Merlin screamed. Somehow, he twisted out of the sorcerers’ grip and, without pausing to think, ran.

But not very far.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist. “Oh, no you don’t,” Tello hissed in his ear. “I’ve heard about you, Emrys. That you can’t die.” Merlin realized he was sobbing now, begging Tello to let Arthur go. ( _"Don't do it, don't hurt him, please let him go, please."_ ) “Let’s test this theory.”

A sharp pain in Merlin’s gut told him he was stabbed. He knew the feeling intimately.

Tello twisted Merlin around so he was facing Arthur, who was still awake and trying to fight back, but was fading fast. He tried to say something, but he couldn't give sound to his words.

“The Prince was just going to be a gift to Cenred,” Tello said, tightening his grip on Merlin’s bleeding stomach. “He only asked for you. So let’s watch the Crowned Prince of Camelot breath his last breath, shall we?”

Merlin’s eyes widened. Arthur had saved him – he was a good man. He couldn’t die!

“Do it!” Tello told one of the sorcerers.

The man raised his fist, a red ball of light forming into his palms. Arthur’s head was yanked back, throat barred to the dark magic that would hit his chest and stop his heart. The sorcerer began lowering the light.

“NO!” Merlin felt his eyes turn gold. Tello and all the other sorcerers flew backwards, away from him and Arthur. With a shaking gait, he stumbled to Arthur, who looked at him with betrayed eyes before finally falling unconscious.

“Kill him, Emrys,” Tello gritted, gingerly getting back up on his feet. “Kill him. He killed our kind, kill _him_ .”

Merlin looked at him sadly.

“We’re all monsters,” he said. Then, acting on instinct, Merlin allowed his magic to take him and Arthur far away.

 x~X~x

Arthur woke up with a pounding headache. The first thing he saw was Merlin, rocking back and forth in front of a fire.

“You!” He scrambled away, remembering the truth hiding behind the boy's innocent face. “You’re a sorcerer!”

Merlin nodded and continued rocking back and forth.

Arthur wished he had his sword. He wished his body and mind wasn't sluggish from the potion. He could barely stand. “You tricked me,” he snarled.

“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head frantically. “No, you never asked if I was a sorcerer.”

“You said magic was _evil_ ,” Arthur reminded the boy. “You said sorcerers should be sent back to hell.”

“I didn’t lie,” Merlin whispered, tears spilling from his eyes.

“You didn’t…” Arthur trailed off in bewilderment. “Then why in the bloody hell did you practice sorcery!”

“I didn’t.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well, clearly you did.”

Merlin mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?” Arthur asked, unconsciously leaning forward.

“I said…” Merlin licked his lips and rubbed his wet eyes. “I was born with it.”

“Impossible,” scoffed Arthur.

Merlin looked all-too serious when he said, “I wish.”

Arthur frowned. Merlin was unlike any sorcerer he’d ever encountered. He was unlike _anyone_ Arthur’s ever encountered. Looking over Merlin, trying to detect anything that could point to why Merlin was so different, Arthur’s eyes locked onto a growing, red spot.

“You’re wounded!” he gasped.

“It’s okay,” Merlin said, sounding like it was very much not-okay. “I’ll heal.”

“Not without a bandage,” Arthur argued.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t need one.”

“What, like your body will just magically heal the wound?” Arthur asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Although it didn’t fully form, a smile tugged at Merlin’s lips, which Arthur counted as a small victory.

Wait. Victory? Since when was Arthur trying to make Mer—the sorcerer happy?

“No,” the sorcerer said quietly. “But it’ll bring me back to life once I die.”

“…What?” Arthur forgot about his previous musing. This was, by far, the strangest conversation he’s ever had with anyone, let alone a sorcerer.

Merlin buried his head in his arms, and began rocking back and forth again. “I can’t die,” he confessed. “I’ve tried so many things…”

Arthur’s heart clenched. “You’ve _what_ ?”

“Slitting my wrists, drowning, starving myself, falling on a sword,” Merlin listed plainly, as if he were telling Arthur his daily routine.

“ _What_ ?” Arthur has seen people take their own lives before – a young, unmarried mother, a man who lost his family during a harsh winter, a squire who was bullied by the older boys…

“I haven’t tried burning though,” Merlin shuddered, lifting his head to stare at the Prince with his blue eyes big and wretched. “Or the guillotine. It’s a bit difficult to do those by yourself, and I don’t want the fire to get out of hand.”

Arthur swallowed, his throat uncomfortably dry. “Are you completely _mental_ ?”

But Merlin didn’t seem to hear him – his eyes had rounded with hope. “Maybe you can help me!” he said excitedly, no longer rocking back and forth. “ _You_ can chop my head off! Or light me on a pyre!”

“What – No!” Arthur frantically refused. “No, I’m not doing that!”

“But…” The smile slipped off Merlin’s face. “But I’m a _sorcerer_ , don’t you have to?” hesounded disappointed.

“I…” Arthur paused. Merlin was right, he was a sorcerer. And according to law, Arthur’s duty would be to kill him. But how on earth could Arthur kill him now?

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin begged. By the gods, he was even on his knees, his hands forming together in a prayer. “Please, you got to try! Please!”

Arthur must’ve taken too long to respond for Merlin slouched, defeated.

“They said you’re the prince,” he said, almost to himself.

It was quiet. Arthur didn’t know what to do. Leave? Stay? Help him? And help him how? By trying to kill him? Or… What?

So Arthur did nothing. He just sat there and…watched.

Soon, Merlin began nodding off. He laid down and a puddle of blood pooled around his stomach. After several minutes, he stopped breathing.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked quietly. When there was no response, he moved closer and gently shook him. “Merlin?” Still, no response.

Curious, Arthur lifted Merlin’s shirt, wondering how it was he would be brought back to life. _If_ he would be brought back to life. but what was hidden under the dirty blue shirt froze his blood. The stab wound was only one of many scars. Some were faint white lines, some were jagged red lines…but none of those were the worst.

Words were etched into Merlin’s skin. _Monster_. _Freak_. _Sorcerer_. _Evil_. Arthur fought the urge to vomit. Most appeared to be written by Merlin’s own hand.

Yet there were a few that were clearly made by someone else. 

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to will the images away. It didn’t work.

The sun was now high in the sky. No one had come for them, and Arthur was starting to believe no one would. Wherever it was that Merlin sent them, it was far away from the sorcerers. Arthur supposed he ought to have searched for his men. Spending hours waiting for a dead man to wake up wasn’t a good excuse. With a heavy heart, he slowly stood, unable to take his gaze off of the boy still lying on the ground. Just as he decided to finally walk away, Merlin gasped.

“Mum,” he cried out, eyes open but unseeing. “No, mum! I’m so sorry!”

“Merlin!” Arthur crouched back down, barely avoiding being wacked in the face by Merlin’s frantic arms, probably reaching out for his mother. “Merlin, stop! Calm down!”

“N-No,” Merlin wailed. He began sobbing uncontrollably. “Mum! Come back! Save me!”

“Shh, Merlin. It’s okay,” Arthur said, gripping and pressing Merlin’s back against his chest. His legs were bracing Merlin's sides. Arthur has only done this once, when a young woman had fallen off her startled horse and couldn’t catch her breath. 

Except that woman didn’t twist around in Arthur’s arms and hug him tightly.

“Uh,” Arthur said. “Merlin? Are you okay?”

“Mum,” Merlin cried into Arthur’s neck. "Come back, mum. Make them stop. Make him stop..."

Cautiously, Arthur wrapped his arms around the boy’s smaller frame, rubbing his back and rocking them slightly. It took around an hour for Merlin to fully wake up and stop crying. Still, they sat in silence, neither sure what to say. Arthur wondered if this happened every time Merlin "awoke" from death. If so, who held him all those other times?

(Arthur knew the answer--no one--but the image of Merlin thrashing and calling out for his mum all alone on a hard forest floor was too painful to imagine.)

Finally, Arthur broke the silence, asking, “Merlin…what happened to your village?”

Merlin’s arms tensed around Arthur’s neck. Slowly, he extracted his arms, but Merlin had no motions to move himself further away from Arthur; he stayed seated in the space between Arthur's thighs. 

“Fire,” Merlin said, voice ragged. “Cenred… He and his men came to our village. I was seven. He brought a woman, a High Priestess of the Old Religion. Her name was Morgause,” Merlin shuddered. “She called me Emrys too. They wanted me to go with them, but I didn’t want to. I ran away.” Snorting, Merlin amended, “Well, I _tried_ to run away.” His voice grew small. “But they found me.”

Silence fell, and Arthur was sure Merlin wouldn’t speak again, but just as he was about to reassure Merlin he didn’t have to finish, Merlin wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I just really didn’t want to go with her.” Merlin hugged himself tightly, his nails digging into his arm, drawing blood. “The fire just…happened.”

Arthur gently pried Merlin’s hands off his arms. Catching Merlin’s eyes, Arthur said, “It wasn’t your fault, Merlin.”

“No, it was,” Merlin replied without emotion. “I’m a monster.”

“No, you’re not,” Arthur enunciated slowly. “Monsters don’t care what they do. Merlin, I’ve seen monsters; trust me. You’re not one.”

Merlin looked up, his face contorted with both hope and denial. “But I’m a sorcerer,” he said. “I was born with magic. And magic is evil.”

Arthur bit his lip. Unsure what to say, he changed the subject, “What did Cenred want from you?”

The subject change wasn’t lost on Merlin; his eyes filled with accepted defeat. “He wanted me to create something for him.”

“What was it?” Arthur still felt shame at ignoring Merlin’s statement.

“A powerful amulet.”

Arthur cocked his head. “I thought powerful amulets and those sorts things were always really old?”

Merlin laughed a little, his lips twisting into a smile. “Well, they have to come from somewhere, right? Someone had to have made them before.”

“Oh. I see...” His next question dissolved Merlin’s smile within seconds. “Did you?”

“…Yeah. Morgause, she…” he trailed off, licking his lips. “I was with them for six years. After the fire, I ran into the woods to hide. When I went back, nothing was there. It was all ashes. My mother…” Merlin shook his head. “I ran back to the woods. Lived there for about a year.”

Arthur gaped at Merlin. “But… But you were seven years old!”

"Yeah I know. I’m stubborn like that,” Merlin grinned. It faded. “But Cenred wouldn’t stop searching for me. When he finally got me, he sent me to Morgause immediately. She trained me, but everything she taught me was…dark. I didn't like it. And then she and Cenred would–” Merlin immediately cut himself off. As impossible as it was, he folded into himself tighter, as if protecting himself from the words he refused to say. “They forced me to make them the amulet, then I ran away again. Now here I am,” Merlin shrugged.

Arthur nodded, knowing there was more to the story, but also knowing it wasn’t his place to ask. Yet, there was one thing he wanted to know.

“Merlin, your…your scars,” Arthur started hesitantly, watching as Merlin curled inward and his gaze turn cold. “Why did you do them?”

Merlin closed his eyes, releasing a breath. “Because they’re are true,” he whispered.

But that wasn't right. It  _couldn't_ be right. Merlin had  _saved_ Arthur. He didn’t want this life; he didn’t want to be bad.

“You’re not evil, Merlin,” Arthur said, knowing it to be true. Wanting _Merlin_ to know it to be true.

Something in Arthur’s voice must’ve pierced Merlin, for his eyes found Arthur’s. “You really think so?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Arthur nodded. “Evil people don’t do what you do, Merlin. They don’t love and they’re certainly not kind.” He paused, but decided to plow on; after all, Merlin could always refuse. “Listen, I know it’s dangerous, but…but let me take you to Camelot.” Merlin’s eyes were wide. “I can protect you there. If Cenred wants you, then he’ll stop at nothing to get you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Merlin scowled.

“I know,” Arthur said earnestly, causing a surprised blush to spread across Merlin’s cheeks. “But you can’t just hide in the woods and hope for the best. That’s not living. And Cenred can’t get though Camelot’s wall. Besides, I think I know someone there that can help you.”

Merlin floundered. “I… But…magic is illegal in Camelot?”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “But clearly, just as there are bad men, there are also good sorcerers. They shouldn’t be condemned, and neither should you.”

Arthur suddenly found himself with an armful of Merlin.

“Okay, and this touching thing has to be down to a minimum, okay?” Arthur said.

Merlin just laughed and hugged him tighter. Arthur relented and hugged him back.

“Sorry,” Merlin grinned sheepishly, not sounding sorry at all, when he finally pulled back. “I…I like hugs.”

“It’s fine really,” Arthur promised, his mouth turning dry as he realized that, for years, Merlin didn’t have positive, extensive contact with other people. Arthur never really had hugs, but he still had hands and smiles offered to him, especially from his knights. “Now if only we can find my men.”

That’s when a faint “ _Arthur!_ ” could be heard.

“I think they found us,” Merlin said. He turned to Arthur, a twinkle in his eye. “Must be magic.”

Arthur couldn’t help it. He laughed.

 


End file.
